


cracks in the ceiling

by noelsmillers



Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelsmillers/pseuds/noelsmillers
Summary: He found Aleena twirling in a long since abandoned studio, watched only by dust-bunnies and a wide cracked mirror. And there he stayed.
Relationships: Aleena/Noel Miller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	cracks in the ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> soooooo i got obsessed with consuming media about 'the obsessed artist' over christmas (whiplash & black swan) and this happened? also i know literally Nothing about ballet so hell yea on that front. don't put this anywhere noel, aleena or anyone associated with them can see it. srry its short i'm busy stealing from the rich

> Whenever she feels his gaze burning into her, Aleena's mind is quick to list the reasons why she does not need or care for Noel's input.

Aleena is a feather. Light and seamless. People see her dark hair as it arranges around her in a perfect halo and the smile painted onto her lips that is just as carefully applied as her glistening stage-makeup. 

They don't feel the pressure on her perfectly arched feet or endure the agonising stretch of muscle as she goes against every innate feeling in her body and pulls her further shoulders taut.

She would wonder how Noel perceives her dancing, only Noel's opinion is meaningless since he has no real understanding of ballet. Of pain and endurance. Any glimpse of understanding Aleena may trick herself into seeing in his pale virescent eyes is meaningless. 

On occasion, however, when Aleena is exhausted enough, she will catch his stoic facial expression in mirror and, for a split second, something that can last an eternity in ballet, fear that he senses _it_. 

If he watches her glide and knows her every measured breath is anchored in the terror of a misstep. She grits her teeth. Ensuring to keep a smile plastered on her face, Aleena harasses the terror and uses it to fuel her seamless glide across the floor. She is a feather. 

A wilting feather, now. With the bone-deep feeling of exhaustion clinging to her frame, seeping past her skin, the feeling only comparable to wearing soaked garments and being unable to remove them or properly wring them out. She can only carry the weight and hope her knees don't buckle under the pressure. 

Losing her focus rapidly, a spiral that arguably started with Noel, Aleena's graceful movements begin to lose their sharpness, the startling precision that sets her apart from her classmates and promises her an apprenticeship within a company. She can feel her smile beginning to falter as she tries harder to regain control and maintain her core balance. _No. No. No._

Allowing the music to carry her into a spin, Aleena catches a glimpse of her smile in the mirror, now a pained half-grimace. The floor seems to sway beneath her as she finishes her spin, and she's surprised to find that her own sharp intake is audible over the cacophony of piano and violin pouring through her headphones. 

The floor is as hard as ever when her foot bends too far in order to compensate her weight and gives out completely. 

The score continues through her headphones, though now each note is drenched in a mockery. Pain reinforced by her aching ligaments. Aleena rips her headphones out with a disgusted sound.

Falling in the presence of Noel should not sting, Noel knows nothing about ballet, much less does he care. Falling in front of Noel should not sting because Noel is not her friend, nor will he ever be. 

A hand is extended towards her. 

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” Her voice sounds unlike her own. Weak. It sounded as if she could be pushed over by a particularly determined gust of wind. Like the feather she so badly wants to be. Aleena watches Noel's lips twist and promptly wishes she could cram the question back down her throat.

She can count every fact she knows about Noel on her fingers. His janitorial shift is at night because no one at such an elite ballet college would like to hear the clunky trundle of a cleaning cart during the day. The last guy they hired was much older and took twice as long, so Noel finishes in almost half the time and is still paid for the long, extra hours of _nothing-ness_. He clocks out officially just before people begin to filter in. 

He found Aleena twirling in a long since abandoned studio, watched only by dust-bunnies and a wide cracked mirror. And there he stayed, watching her. That was a year ago, if Aleena remembers correctly. 

Noel's hand continues to hover into front of her. They both know she'd sooner acquire a set of pliers and rip her toenails off one by one. Aleena snatches her headphones from the floor and pushes herself up without a sound. 

Noel retracts his hand, shoving it into his pocket and easing back, muttering something snide about her being stubborn. Almost never unkind. 

Aleena can tell when Noel has left, not because of the click of a door or receding footsteps, since both of which are drowned out by the music now filling her skull, but because she can no longer feel his gaze burning into her. 

It doesn't matter. Noel isn't her friend. 

She swallows against the lump forming in her throat, curving her body back into first position and angling her pointe shoes. If she focuses her mind hard enough, she can feel stage lights warming her face. A promise of future. 

Again.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
